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Where Will You Find Me?

Where will you find me as years go by?      Will you think to look in the shadow       of a mystical mountain? Named and renamed for the footprints      and feathers of those who came first, Or in the pastures that        silver seed sustains. Will I be among the laughing and smiling,      breathing in warm afternoons      or hidden among new family   along a ravaged coastline? Where will you find me as years go by?      amid the vanguard dazed by natural disaster or within the warm      wind that pushes healing and implodes the will of ancestors. Will I be hidden and forever lost,      like the poems that weave through      my leaking imagination at night. Where will you find me?      Or rather, Will you find me                        as years go by?

Name It

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I learned about two types of lava from a Hawaiian when visiting the Islands about 30 years ago.  He said that there are two words used to describe the two types.  "Ah Ah" is used when mentioning the sharp rocks you walk over with your bare feet.  "Pa hoe Hoe" is the term for the smooth lava that hardens like glass.  The words are onomatopoetic. That is, they sound like what they describe. When people walk over the rough lava they constantly exclaim "Ah Ah" because it hurts to walk on those blunt, jagged surfaces.  On "Pa Hoe Hoe" they say nothing; they just walk. This metaphor can be applied to people as well.  Take the last two presidents, which word slips off the tongue easier Obama or Trump?  Which word has an abrupt sound? It's fun to make that comparison but what does it really mean?  Do we dare judge people by the sound of their name?  Hardly.  But might there be something more here? Names do carry the baggage of connotation.  People

A Foolish Wind

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Some years ago I was part of a 4-man show about the life of Woody Guthrie.  I did spoken word selections from Woody's writings and a duo of musicians played his songs.  I'd punctuate the guitar music with harmonica occasionally as well.  Our 4th man was an old friend of Woody's named Ed Robbin.  Ed had the distinction of being the guy who first put Woody on the radio at station KFVD in Los Angeles.  A writer and activist, Ed had dabbled a bit in directing plays and drama workshops.  It was with that in mind that I once invited Ed to accompany me to a play one evening in San Francisco.  After the production concluded the director invited the audience to remain after and come down to the first few aisles and meet the cast and discuss the play. Ed nodded that he's like to stay.  I'm purposely leaving out the name of the play and any of the cast because that's not what matters.  What matters is what Ed did and said.  After taking some questions, the director introd

6:53 am

37 people encapsulated      under a dusty blue sky they comprise: 7 pairs of closed eyes    5 energy drinks       8 coffees,          7 hidden in hoodies,             14 pairs of ear buds,                28 small, glowing screens,                     12 backpacks                          6 tote bags,                             32 sneakers                                  10 boots,                                       2 umbrellas                                       0 conversations

Give It Up

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Today is "Giving Tuesday."  It's another in a long line of contrived commercial events that sprang from Black Friday and Cyber Monday.  Yet I, like many, seem more accepting of a day when people can choose a worthy charity or group and help raise funds for worthy causes.  The internet has been wildly successful at doing fundraising. I should have known something was up with the amount of email that came in this morning.  Seems like every group I've ever given to and any dimly related group was smiling with hands out in my inbox today.  Am I complaining? Hardly.  Like many of my friends, in recent years I've stopped giving those obligatory holiday gifts and chosen to make donations to groups that I and we support.  It's doubly satisfying because not only do we eliminate the need to get in line at the post office or have the expense of using an overnight carrier, but we no longer have to spend time in crowded shopping malls or retail districts wondering if the

Smoke in My Eyes

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Maybe it was the masks.  People walking around with surgical masks over their mouths and noses do add a dystopic element to reality.  Sonoma county is usually noted for the quality of the wine it produces.  Wine that becomes exceptional because of the ideal growing conditions.  Lots of clean water and a very temperate climate.  But after spending a week in Northern California...a week breathing toxic air from the horrendous wildfires that now extend the fire season into winter, the reality we face is as topsy-turvey as ever. As Bob Dylan asked during another dystopic time in our lives "..and you know something's happening, and you don't know what it is, do you Mr. Jones?" Something is definitely happening. The fire season has lengthened, the hills are dry and dryer.  The climate is not what it once was. It's changed. To those who deny, the only response can be... It's the environment, stupid. The week piled on more bad news.  Florida is incapable of havi

Vice Versa

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The sun came up a larger and brighter orange this morning.  November is nearing its midpoint and ash, not snow falls from above.  New California normal. The President strangles the press openly now and the mass shootings occur on a regular basis. We slide from synagogue to night club, from school to church.  And all the while the drum beats from Is this who we are? to yes, this is...who we are.  This is what we have become. People always kid about getting their passports ready and moving to Canada. They don't want us. The time for kidding is over. The Constitution is in a vice. Two versions of the future pull at each end of the handle. Civil War takes many forms; Civility only one. The burning question is literally burning.

Safe Man

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I had a little problem with my front door lock the other day.  That's when I met Jack.  The key to one of the two locks on my front door would go in, but wouldn't turn.  Time to call a locksmith.  I phoned a recommended source and Jack appeared. Jack can best be described as a journeyman.  He's a career professional and his career just might be a dying breed.  Everything is going digital and locks and safes are no exception.  But until that day, an old school locksmith like Jack will continue to make a good living. Jack can get you in.  He can actually diagnose a problem from a fairly accurate description. "This will take about 20 minutes," Jack said after looking at my problem.  He adjusted a few things and then returned my key.  It seems some small part had broken off on the top lock.  When his repair was complete, in about 15 minutes, Jack went on to explain that the top lock, the deadbolt, was in fine shape and really all one needs.  "That lock is your

Tabloid Culture

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When I first heard the term it struck me...this idea really fits.  "Tabloid culture"... we live in a tabloid culture.  All the signs were there.  One had only to hear those two words fall into place. This was right around the time that reality TV shows were coming into vogue and tabloids, themselves were beginning to appear in grocery stores at the check-out counter.  And appear they did, in numerous forms.  Newspaper and magazine formats took the place of Time and Newsweek. Of course, television stations were programming the likes of Jerry Springer and Maury Povich.  Who impregnated whom and who done him or her wrong shows were the new ratings toppers. So what does this say about who we are as a people and how that relates to the current state of the union and those who are in the halls of power?  With all sensitivity to personal tastes and differences, to class, race, and gender...it says that we've come down a few pegs and are, perhaps, in free-fall from our once

Divided House

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I've been spending a fair amount of time lately reading Ron Chernow's massive new biography of General Ulysses S. Grant.  At over 900 pages, there is a lot of history here, and much of it quite interesting and thought-provoking.  It is also fascinating to read about this historical era when the country was so divided in a time when the country is so divided again. Even though it seems like these divisions will never end or be resolved, they somehow dissipate for a time, only to surface decades later in an altered form.  Altered, yes, but not entirely different from their original content and intensity. We live in a time of tremendous division.  Much of that division concerns the interpretation of what is loosely termed the direction of our country.  We have at the helm, a political newcomer who thrives on pandering to his base and overtly expressing his racism, sexism, and self-righteous indignation.  This is not unlike the world that Grant inhabited when Andrew Johnson wa

As I Recall

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With the testimony of Dr. Blasey Ford before Congress, I'm sure many folks are trying to remember some of the high school parties they attended.  This is all the more difficult depending on the type and amount of beverages present.  I suspect social class plays a significant role too. Some indisputable evidence that has come out of these hearings and their aftermath is that alcohol was a huge part of the equation back in the 1980s, the setting for this particular situation. Frat parties and exclusive private boys schools clubs have always been about getting drunk.  The degree to which one imbibes seems to be the significant factor here.  But, inebriation is not the topic here, high school parties are. Do you remember many high school parties you attended?  I do...at least a few.  They seem to revolve around events rather than what we drank.  Growing up in Southern California, many of those I recall revolved around a swimming pool. As a high school junior, the memorable party

Attraction

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A couple of weeks ago I met a wonderful young man just about to begin his career in one of the more stressful helping professions.  Robbie is a sharp, well groomed, young professional who will soon be working with folks that have been diagnosed with all manner of mental illnesses.  Like so many young folks I meet, he had education debt, but also the energy and intellectual curiosity of someone who would make a great friend. We met at a small dinner party organized around the fact that all attendees had helped one of our neighbors when he sustained an injury that left him on crutches for the better part of 6 months. Since Robbie will soon be moving about an hour away, the little get together had even more meaning.  Some of my neighbors and I had helped our injured friend without ever meeting each other.  This dinner would remedy that. The dinner went well.  We talked politics, film, art, and a smattering of neighborhood news.  Before the evening ended Robbie asked me about fly fishin

Fall Colors

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Last week I made my annual pilgrimage to a small lake in Central Oregon.  I've been going there for about 10 years now every September.  It's great to be in this Cascades after Labor Day because the tourist population is gone and the weather usually holds up for another month.  I had a goal.  There are some beautifully colored Brook trout in this lake and while I have no problem with catching (and releasing) a Rainbow trout, the opportunity to catch a Brookie with Fall spawning colors often eludes me.  I charged up the battery on the little digital camera that fits nicely into the pocket of my favorite fishing shirt and promptly forgot to put in in place the morning I drove the 18 miles up into the mountains from our rented guest house in Central Oregon.  The thought hit me just as I was negotiating the last mile of the horrible washboarded dirt road that dead ends at the lake.  What's the worse that could happen?  I kept asking myself.  I could catch (and release) a beaut

Levis Forever

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There is a song called "Amanda" by Waylon Jennings that has a verse I've held onto for decades.  I think the song was written in the 1970s when I was in my 30s so it's easy to see the appeal because the aforementioned verse goes:                                    It's a measure of people who don't understand                                    The pleasures of life in a hillbilly band                                    I got my first guitar when I was fourteen                                    Well I finally made forty, still wearing jeans I liked the fact that at 40, I was still wearing jeans.  Levis are my jean of choice.  I've had them in many colors, but the 501 blue jeans are the best, by far.  As a teacher, I could wear the brown or black 501s in the classroom and perhaps the blue on a Friday.  In my last month of full-time teaching I wore blue 501s every day.  Guess I wanted to put an exclamation point on the career. Today, it's no big de

Home Town

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He first appeared sometime in the mid-70s.  We thought he might be a vet with PTSD.  In retrospect, he was one of the first homeless people I recall.  Before that we had the term "shopping bag ladies" and before people used the term bum freely. In my childhood, everyone seemed to have a home.  Maybe not a house, but definitely a home.  Somewhere to go at the end of the day.  A safe place; a campsite. We didn't know what to make of him because he was silent.  We wondered.  Was he broke? Hungry? Was he well? When I picture him I see him in shades of brown and black.  He was a white guy, but living on the street can make you filthy in a hurry.  His clothing was tattered; his shoes barely had soles.  He walked...a lot. People gave him a nickname: "the victim." "I saw the victim today, " they'd say.  He was down on Telegraph and Ashby, making his way back to College Avenue.  He walked long stretches but by late afternoon always made his way back to

Constitutional Crisis

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Irwin Shaw said in his famous short story, "Tip of a Dead Jockey," "...In this age there comes a time when everyone finds that he is forced to gamble--and not for money, and not only at the seller's window. And when that time comes and you are not in the habit, and it does not amuse you, you are most likely to lose." The President is a gambler. He's been forcing himself to sit at the table and go to the window more and more lately. There is no book of strategies, no Daily Racing Form for his pursuits. None is needed because this is an old tale.  The better adage might be, "A man should never gamble, more than he can stand to lose.  The President is obsessed with loyalty.  Trouble is that the concept has flipped on him.  The greater loyalty has become elevated to the Constitution and a sense of ethics.  The moral compass has turned.  Our Constitution works when tested.  Ethical people rather than the craven autocratic demigods catch more bees because t

Danger Ahead

He is a runawy truck ramp     his face that dusty, rough, unnatural shade like the unpaved, sandy surface                    of the side road that leads up a sudden hill to nowhere. He is a RUNAWAY TRUCK RAMP,             that side option that hopefully never gets used.      It's unfinished, sudden, unlikely to stop the motion of an uncontrollable force. This ramp paints an eerie feeling,   It's impossible not to glance over when passing, It conjures images of disaster. He is a runaway truck ramp,      possessed by the possibility of function But nobody wants to travel that road.

An Alternate Universe

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Everybody needs an alternate universe.  They come in handy, especially these days when the one we all inhabit becomes insufferable.  Right now, aside from the current political scene which features more lying and corruption charges than a B Western, we've got a major dose of disunity to deal with.  People can hardly talk to one another.  Even the talking heads of cable news are interrupting one another at an increased pace.  If I were to return to the classroom this fall, I'd revise my curriculum to include the methodology and strategies for having a discussion about politics.  First, you have to hear the person.  We all could use some revising on that topic. Having an escape is both useful and necessary.  My alternate universe was once the world of horse racing.  That is to say, I used to inhabit that world.  I only do so virtually now.  But being there offered the opportunity to see, smell, hear and talk about equine athletes.  As a standard of beauty, the thoroughbred has f

At First Glance

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With August comes the dreaded phrase, "back to school."  Professional educators are always eager to return to the classroom and begin another year.  In fact, one of the most enjoyable things about teaching is the opportunity to begin again.  The job has a built-in reset. We usually hear the phrase when it is attached to commercials about school clothing or school supplies.  Both of those rituals are usually a welcome experience.  Who doesn't like putting together a new notebook and re-stocking one's stash of paper clips, staples, binder paper, and perhaps a couple of new items that will soon become either poor choices or unnecessary. In my first decade in the classroom, I looked forward to buying a few new shirts and a couple pairs of pants destined to occupy that spot in the closet for "school clothes." Along with the familiar ads reminding us that the 2018-19 school year is almost upon us has come something new.  Not first time new, but in the last few

Twos or Tens

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A good number of folks I know are having a horrible year, so far.  This is happening just when some of us thought that after last year, things were bound to improve.  Not so.  So far some of the things people are dealing with run the gamut from small, bothersome, irritations, to the biggest stressors of all.  In the space of a couple of weeks, I've heard stories about jobs suddenly ending, cars being hit while parked, and then fixed, and then hit again, to the big illnesses like inoperable tumors and recurring cancer diagnoses. All this and the planet is imploding.  Don't forget that.  As a friend of mine likes to say, "Is it a two or a ten?" A little of both, I'd say.  I think the thing to be careful of, is don't let a two become a ten.  Easier said, sometimes. We're having a week of uncharacteristically hot weather here in the Pacific Northwest and that seems to aggravate everything.  Decision-making comes slowly. Motivation even slower.  Dog days, to

Perfect Drift

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Seems like I've moved...again.  Not physically, but in my mind.  I now reside at the intersection of Today and Someday.  When those two streets intersect, it's a collision, of sorts.  It's the realization that most, if not all, your Somedays now reside under the heading of Today.  That is, you have to make them happen today because Someday just got smaller in a big way. I was always in my head a lot as a child.  Whether raking leaves, mowing a lawn or walking home from school, I thought mostly of things that might come to be, someday.  The wonderful meditation of expectation was usually what preoccupied me.  It's not a bad thing.  In fact, I recently read where people who have something to look forward to are usually more content than those who don't.  I find real wisdom in that. But there is another kind of expectation that isn't so useful.  As a child, my elementary school teachers often told my parents (it was usually my mother) that I seemed to always be &

Timing

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I've been spending some time with my 93-year-old mother-in-law.  As you might imagine, that, in itself, has its challenges.  But apart from the physical limitations of sight and hearing, the mental ones of technology and age, she does remarkably well at navigating the massive social change that surrounds us all. Betsy is a liberal.  A classic liberal.  She lives in Berkeley, California, and in many ways epitomizes the world-view of what that is supposed to mean.  She's lived through world war, and at least 15 Presidential terms, notwithstanding the fact that FDR was elected 4 times. This past weekend, as luck would have it,  most of the family went in different directions and the two of us remained to spend some time together. We watched some films, we took a hike around a local lake at one of the regional parks that dot the East Bay hills, and then settled in one evening to watch a political commentator on cable news.  Not surprising, the program soon turned to the recent n

People Get Ready

There is an adage that has served me well whenever I find myself faced with a thought dilemma.  The kind of conundrum that has me wondering about the consequences of an important decision or asking the question, "How can I begin to make sense of this?" What I do is follow some simple advice: what do the finest minds, in your view, have to say about this?  Seek out the ideas of those you respect the most and try to find out what their perspectives teach you. We all know that there is a palpable fear running through this country right now?  Despite our attempts at unity, we are a hugely divided nation that seems to be resting on the brink of disaster.  All the signs are there.  Things are not going well.  Life is tough and tougher.  If ever there were to be a second Civil in this country, this is the time. I don't need to run down the list of circumstances and realities, the improbable cast of characters.  The daily stream of violence and savagery in all forms that prese

Sitting

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I'm in a dream.  But I'm not.  It's always that way when I return to the Bay Area and try to negotiate my old, once familiar haunts.  The roads have changed; they are configured differently in many places.  Just going from one to another confronts me with choices and risks I didn't know I had.  Try to enjoy the moment I keep telling myself. Enjoyment comes in the form of finding a shady place with a plastic chair and a cement shelf on which to rest my cup of Peet's coffee.  Street musicians have upped their game here.  What would pass for a "homeless" man in some cities has a sophisticated sound system that sends the background music to everyone from Marvin Gaye to Sinatra wafting over the cloudless sky.  He sings his heart out.  A real latter-day Mel Torme, he forms the backdrop for aging skateboarders, all manner of I-Phone fiddlers, and those who run errands or walk dogs or simply rush around the gentrified park they inhabit. We are listening to hi

Everybody's Happy??

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The two ideas in one sentence are problematic, to say the least.  Like good and evil, or elation and depression, there is a relationship.  But honestly, how does the sound of a "Reparations Happy Hour" sound to you? This is the recent brainchild of some political activists in Portland.  Portland, Or you may recall, is the place that was once called, "where 20 somethings go to retire."  But, in reality, in Portland, all things are possible. The idea was simple.  You ask white folks to contribute $10. and then stage a Happy Hour for black folks where they can get together knowing that enough, or maybe some... white people care about recognizing the evils and far-reaching consequences of slavery on the black community to want to do something other than talk about the idea. Sounds preposterous, sounds amiss, or even ridiculous, yet this is exactly what came about recently in "the city that cares."* It hasn't been an overwhelming success but these th

1968

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50 years ago it was 1968.  Arguably one of the most difficult years for this young nation, 1968 had the feeling of a malaise settling over the country.  Some would say it is not uncommon to what people are feeling today with the likes of Donald Trump in the White House. In 1968 I was 21, and completing my Junior year in college.  On that June Tuesday in '68 when Californians went to the polls, I had a final exam in a class on political philosophy.  I wrote my Blue Book exam on the theories expressed in a book called The Radical Liberal. The author was my professor at UCLA that year, Arnold S. Kaufmann.  It was all so contemporary. Comparing the ideas of Eugene McCarthy and Robert Kennedy was rewarding, even for a 3- hour exam.  What was far less worthwhile was the fact that I went home only to watch the assassination of Robert Kennedy shortly after he was declared the winner of the California primary. I was in McCarthy's camp prior to that day.  But RFK was getting to m

Re-inventing the Self

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I'm staring straight into the face of it again.  It seems to come around every few years during this very different time of life. This time with no full-time employment. Self-reinvention.  One of the benefits of living in the US of A is that we enjoy this luxury.  It often can be stimulating and risky. Som who will I be when I am no longer the person that did these things for so many years.  Who will I be when I haven't a clue what I'll be doing.  Or do I? Every time I ask the question, the answer is always the same.  Wait and see. When we lose the structure and routine we've complained about for so long we feel compelled to create a substitute.  For good reason.  Do you know how easy it is to waste a day?  Days?  even a year? Define waste. OK, waste, as in accomplishing nothing. I belong to the melting ice school of thought.  As Arthur Miller once noted, we are all trying to "write our name on a cake of ice on a hot July day."  No really.  We just do i

In and Out of History

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The boys were very well-behaved despite the constant rain and sticky mud.  When the 2018 version of the Preakness was over, there were no real surprises, but a glimmer of what is yet to come.  Justify continued his perfect streak and set himself up perfectly for a Triple Crown attempt, but whether or not his performance was impressive, or at least as impressive as the previous ones, remains in doubt. That will set up the Belmont perfectly with an air of doubt and the chance to pull an upset.  It's possible that Justify could fall short because of the distance of the race and because the Triple Crown trail is paved with thorns and remains a grueling ordeal. I'm reminded how easily names and places fall in and out of history.  Some wither on the brink and some enter cemented in place.  Even a 1200 pound thoroughbred who consistently displays all the speed and stamina of a true champion can appear vulnerable in the eyes of the knowing. The fragility of something perceived to

Preak-ish

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Every time a Kentucky Derby winner runs in the Preakness, which is almost every year, we have the potential for a Triple Crown winner.  So it will be on Saturday as Justify continues to carve his name into the tree of history at Pimlico. Being the oldest racetrack in the nation, save Saratoga, Pimlico will dust off its ancient grounds, polish the silver, and once again host the eye of the nation and the best 3-year olds currently in training. Once again, too, the naysayers and East/West bias holders will spit out their theories and reinforce the mythology about the tight turns Pimlico seems to have.  They'll take a stand against Justify, the favorite, and pontificate till their ears turn red.  Probably, Justify will romp easily and prove that the Belmont is the true test of a 3-year-old champion.  We've seen this so many times that it's predictable. Still, with the strong undercard, the buzz in the air and the thousands all decked out for a special day, it'll be f

Oh A Sis

I saw her by chance      after 30 years the SoCal dream glinting in their eyes, the perspective of the photo had the best interpretation      the best reminder two palm trees growing      out of their heads  

Black and White Spaces

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April 2018 Ashland, Oregon On this warm, windy Spring day I wondered a mile or so from the downtown section of Ashland, Oregon and found myself on the campus of Southern Oregon University. Finding the Student Union was simple and here I sit with a fresh cup of coffee in a space where I am easily, save one, the oldest person.  I found a bathroom, a bookstore, and an internet connection with little or no effort as well. I feel safe in this space even though I'm just passing through.  College campuses seem particularly interested in the concept of safe spaces these days and in the wake of a recent incident at Starbucks in Philadelphia some folks are unabashedly conscious of how they are being perceived by others and worry about whether to buy something or if it's even OK to wait for someone you are meeting if you don't seem busy and like you belong. Do we want a culture of coffee shops where it's acceptable to spend a few hours taking your time?  I think so.  People